The Reluctant Pitcher Read online

  for

  Corky, Becky, Scotty, Jody, and Tommy

  Copyright

  Copyright © 1966 by Catherine M. Christopher

  Copyright © renewed 1994 by Catherine M. Christopher

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Hachette Book Group

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  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09535-8

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  The #1 Sports Series for Kids: Matt Christopher

  Matt Christopher

  1

  Warm up, Wally,” said Coach Hutter. “I want you to pitch the next inning.”

  Wally Morris had been about to sit in the dugout. He looked at Coach Hutter, a tall, wiry man with gray hair and blue eyes. Sometimes those eyes could be dark blue, especially when things didn’t go right. Now they were mild blue. Wally knew that was because the Pacers were leading the Canaries by a fat margin, 8–1.

  “Okay, Coach,” he said.

  Coach Hutter asked Pete Jason, one of the substitutes, to pick up a catcher’s mitt and warm up Wally. Wally took his glove off the roof of the dugout, walked with Pete behind the dugout, and started throwing.

  He didn’t like to pitch. He got nervous and sweaty all over when he pitched. His control was poor, too. He’d rather play right field. He didn’t mind the other outfield positions, but he was getting used to right field. He liked it there. Why did the coach have to change him?

  He looked over toward the batter’s box and saw Ken Asher pinch-hitting for Steve Collins. It was the bottom of the fourth inning, and Wally figured that Coach Hutter was putting in substitutes.

  Ken smashed out a single, and Dick Lewis came up. Why didn’t the coach have Dick pitch? Dick was tall and skinny as a rail, but he had a good right arm. He had control. And he liked to pitch. He wore glasses be cause he was nearsighted, but that didn’t make any difference.

  Dick took a called strike, then drove a hard grounder down to short. The ball was slightly to the left of the shortstop. But he fielded it neatly and snapped it to second base. The second baseman stepped on the bag, then pegged the ball to first.

  A double play!

  Alan Pierce reported to the umpire, then stepped to the plate. He was batting for Terry Towns, the pitcher whose place Wally was taking.

  Alan fidgeted a lot at the plate before he got ready for the pitch. He pulled at his hat, rubbed his hands up and down on the bat, jerked his shoulders, and rubbed his sneakers back and forth in the dirt. Then he swung at the first pitch, popped it high into the air, and the second baseman caught it.

  Three outs.

  The infielders chattered loudly and happily as Wally walked out to the mound. A buzz started up among the Pacers’ fans. They were clearly surprised that Wally was going to pitch. This was the first game in which he had played any position other than the outfield.

  Wally stood tall on the mound. He knew what to do on the rubber. Coach Hutter had explained it all to him over and over again.

  He faced the catcher, Chris McCray, with his left foot on the rubber and his right slightly behind it. He got the signal from Chris — one finger sticking below the mitt, which meant a straight ball — then took his windup and delivered.

  “Ball!”

  He began to get nervous and sweaty. Chris threw the ball back to him and once more gave him the signal for a straight ball.

  “Ball two!” shouted the umpire.

  “Wait ’em out!” cried the Canaries’ fans. “He’ll walk you!”

  The next pitch hit the corner for a called strike. The next two pitches were balls, and the batter got a free ticket to first.

  “Stay with ’em, Wally!” yelled Coach Hutter from the dugout.

  Wally put the first pitch over the plate on the next hitter. The next two throws were wide. He put the fourth pitch over, and the batter blasted it out to center field. The hit was good and solid. But J.J. Adams got under it and caught it.

  The Canaries’ pitcher swaggered to the plate. He was a lefty. Wally wished he would hit into a double play and get this inning over with quickly. Wally wound up and threw.

  Crack! A long fly to right field! Alan Pierce, playing in Wally’s place, hustled back and caught it. A beautiful catch. The fans gave Alan a big hand.

  Two outs, thought Wally. One more to go.

  A little guy stepped to the plate. Wally wiped the sweat from his brow. This one should be an easy out, he thought.

  Wally stepped on the rubber, stretched, and fired the ball. Crack! A drive over short! A real Texas leaguer! The runner on first rounded second. Left fielder Tony Wells fielded the ball quickly and pegged it in to third. The runner hustled back to second base.

  Wally stared unbelievingly at the batter, who was now standing on first. A little guy, but boy, could he hit!

  Coach Hutter called time and walked out to the mound.

  “Relax, Wally,” he said. “You’re too tight. Loosen up. Throw that ball around their knees. You can do it.”

  Wally nodded. He knew what he was supposed to do. He just didn’t think he was any good at it. Why did Coach Hutter think so?

  The coach walked off the field. Wally got ready to pitch again. There were men on first and second, and two outs. He stretched, delivered.

  A hot grounder to short! It zipped past Ken Asher for a clean single.

  The runner on second scored. The runner on first advanced to second, then stopped. The hitter, after running halfway to second, returned to the first-base bag.

  The next hitter singled in another run. Then Wally caught a one-hopper that was hit directly at him. He threw the man out at first and walked off the field with the cheers of the Pacers’ fans ringing hollowly in his ears.

  What a terrible inning, he thought. Can’t Coach Hutter see that I’m no pitcher? Can’t he see that I play right field much better than I pitch and that I would rather play right field?

  Couldn’t Coach Hutter see that?

  2

  Chris McCray was the first man up to start the bottom of the fifth inning. Chris was stocky. Freckles sprinkled his face, and his hair was fiery red. He took a called strike, then two balls, then blasted a high pitch to deep center. It sure looked as if it were going out into the wild blue yonder. But the Canaries’ outfielder sprinted back after it and made a beautiful one-handed catch.

  Lee Benton grounded out, and William “Sawbones” Davis walked. Wally was up again.

  He didn’t feel at ease now. He was still edgy over the last half-inning.

  He watched the first pitch go by. A strike.

  The next looked as if it were coming close to the plate. He swung at it, then tried to hold his bat back as he saw the ball was coming in too high.

  “Strike two!” said the umpire. He had swung too far.

  His nerves were jumping as he waited for the next pitch. It came, low and slightly inside. He cut at it. Missed!

  “Strike three!” shouted the umpire.

  Wally turned and w
alked away from the batter’s box, his head bowed. He couldn’t hit when he felt edgy. And nothing made him edgier than pitching.

  The Pacers trotted back out to the field.

  “Just take your time out there, Wally,” said Coach Hutter encouragingly as Wally picked up his glove and started for the mound. “You’re better than they are.”

  You think so, Coach, thought Wally. But I’m not. I know I’m not.

  He was glad that this was the last inning. Three outs. That was all they needed. Three outs and it would be over.

  Wally walked the first batter. Chris rubbed the ball as he carried it back to the mound.

  “You seem jumpy,” Chris said. “What’re you worried about? We’re five runs ahead, and this is their last chance.”

  Wally took the ball from Chris. “I’m no pitcher,” he said. “Why does he put me in here?”

  “You’re left-handed, and you have a good arm — that’s why,” replied Chris. “Coach Hutter knows what he’s doing. Okay. Bear down, buddy and let’s strike ’em out.”

  Chris trotted back to his position behind the plate. The shin guards and chest protector looked bulky and clumsy on him.

  Wally tried to bear down on the next hitter. He threw two pitches that were just outside of the plate, then grooved the next two. But the hitter lambasted the next pitch to left center field for a neat triple, scoring a run.

  Chris caught a straight-up, straight-down foul for the first out. Then J.J. nabbed a long fly to center. But the runner on third scored after tagging up, giving the Canaries two runs for the inning.

  The score was 8–5 now. In two innings the Canaries had scored four runs.

  Wally took off his cap and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. It was a warm day. The sun was dipping slowly toward the hills in the west. Somewhere in the distance a tractor could be heard plowing a field. From a smokestack beyond the stone quarry a mile away, a thin line of white smoke curled upward.

  A great day for a ball game, thought Wally — if I could have stayed in right field.

  He faced the next hitter, got the signal from Chris, stretched, and delivered one down the groove. Crack! A hard sizzling grounder down to third. Get it, Rocky! Get it! Wally pleaded silently.

  Rocky ran behind the ball, fielded it nicely, and pegged it to first. Three outs.

  The game was over. Wally walked off, taking in a deep breath and letting it out with relief. It was as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders.

  Coach Hutter’s slender, ruddy face was wreathed with a smile. He slapped Wally on the shoulder, then took his hand.

  “Nice going, Wally,” he said. “You’re a little uncomfortable out there, but you’ll come along fast. I know you will.”

  He looked long at Wally, his blue eyes just as mild and warm as could be.

  “Do it for me, son,” he said. “I’d be very happy if you would.”

  “Sure, Mr. Hutter,” Wally promised. “If you want me to.”

  Wally turned and saw Sawbones Davis waiting for him. He had been given that nickname because he wanted to be a veterinarian like his father someday. He always looked as if he needed a haircut. A tooth was missing in front, and he was sticking his tongue through it.

  They started walking away together and almost bumped into a man and a girl.

  “Oh, excuse me,” Wally said.

  The man was tall and gray-haired. Wrinkles webbed the corners of his brown eyes.

  “Hello, boys,” he said. “I’m Cab Lacey. This is my daughter, Helen. You had a rough two innings out there, Wally.”

  “Sure did,” answered Wally. “But I’m no pitcher. I don’t know why he stuck me in there.”

  “You like the outfield better?”

  “Yes. Right field especially.”

  Wally noticed Helen looking curiously at him and Sawbones. She was about his age. He remembered seeing Mr. Lacey at the first game, talking with Coach Hutter. But he hadn’t seen Helen before.

  “I agree with you, Wally,” said Cab Lacey. “You look fine in right field. You have a strong left arm and can make a pretty accurate throw to either home or third base, which is very important. Seems funny that the coach put you in to pitch. That Lewis boy, and Towns, look good to me.”

  Wally nodded. “I think so, too,” he said.

  “Well . . .” Cab Lacey smiled and waved to them as they started to walk out of the park. “See you at the next game.”

  “So long,” Wally and Sawbones said almost together.

  “He sounds as if he knows his baseball,” Sawbones observed. “Never saw his daughter before, though. You?”

  “Nope,” replied Wally. “I don’t think Sharon has seen her either, or she would have said something.”

  Sharon was his older sister. She was an eighth grader and knew just about every girl in town. It was certainly strange that she hadn’t met Mr. Lacey’s daughter.

  A smile curved Sawbones’s mouth. He pressed the tip of his tongue through the spot where the tooth was missing, then drew it away.

  “She was so quiet. Maybe she’s stuck on herself,” he said “Some girls are like that.”

  “Maybe she is,” said Wally. “She sure acted that way. And what I hate is anybody who’s stuck-up.”

  “You and me both,” said Sawbones.

  3

  After the game between the Warriors and the Blue Raiders on Wednesday, the Pacers took over the field for practice. The Warriors had won the game, 5–2, their first win in three games. The Pacers had trounced them last week. In Wally’s opinion, the Warriors were hardly warriors at all.

  Coach Hutter had Mr. McCray, Chris’s father, knock flies out to the outfielders. Mr. McCray was short and chubby just like Chris. He said that he enjoyed helping out because it was good exercise.

  Coach Hutter told the infielders to get into their positions and gave them a ball to warm up with. Then he called Wally aside.

  “I want you to practice pitching, Wally,” he said. “Get one of those extra shin guards out of the bag and go over there near the dugout. I’ll have Chris work with you. You have a good strong arm, Wally. And you’re left-handed. You’re very much like Del used to be. I would have made him into a great pitcher if . . . well, if that accident hadn’t happened.”

  He blinked a little and went on quickly. “I’ll make you a great pitcher, Wally, just like Del was going to be. You’re nervous yet, but you’ll get used to it. Okay?”

  Wally stared at the ground. He remembered very well the accident the coach had mentioned. Wally had been there when it happened. It was two years ago. They were in a motorboat — Mr. Hutter; his son, Del; and Wally. There was an explosion, and the boat seemed to tear all apart. The three of them landed in the rough lakewater, and the rear of the boat, where the motor had been, was burning fiercely.

  Del and Wally were so badly hurt that they couldn’t swim to shore. But Del was injured worse. So Mr. Hutter checked to make sure that Wally’s life preserver was keeping him afloat, then quickly pulled Del in to shore. Then he came back after Wally. By the time they got in to shore, Del was unconscious.

  The paramedics did everything they could for Del on the way to the hospital. Then the doctors took over. But it was no use. Del died in the hospital. Wally would never forget that day. Neither would he forget that Mr. Hutter had saved his life.

  Even though everyone told him that it wouldn’t have mattered if Del had been treated sooner, Wally still wondered. If Coach Hutter hadn’t had to come back for him, would Del still be alive?

  That same thought crossed his mind again now. He looked up at the coach and said, “Okay, Coach, I’ll keep trying to pitch.”

  Coach Hutter called over to Chris Mc-Cray to catch for Wally. As Wally started for the canvas bag to get a shin guard to use for a plate, he spotted a man standing nearby. His jacket was unbuttoned, and his thick gray hair was blowing in the wind.

  “Hi, Mr. Lacey,” Wally greeted him. “You going to watch us practice?”

  “For a wh
ile,” said Cab Lacey with a smile. His daughter wasn’t with him this time.

  Cab Lacey watched while Wally practiced pitching. After a while Coach Hutter walked over to Mr. Lacey, spoke to him a bit, then handed Mr. Lacey the ball and bat. Mr. Lacey went to the plate and began hitting grounders to the infielders. Coach Hutter walked over behind Wally and watched Wally pitch.

  “Follow through, Wally,” he suggested. “When you let go of the ball, bring your arm around. Don’t stop it short. You’ll get more speed and won’t tire so quickly.”

  Wally tried to do as the coach suggested, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

  The sun was beginning to set when Coach Hutter called it quits and rounded up the boys. By the sober expression on his face, Wally could tell that he had some news for them.

  “I won’t be here for our next game,” he said. “I have to go away on business next week and will miss Monday’s game and possibly Wednesday’s. We’ll have to get some one to coach you.” He turned to Chris McCray’s father. “Phil, how about you? You want to take over the job next week?”

  Mr. McCray’s chubby face spread into a wide smile. “I could, but I’d be a poor substitute, Luke. How about this gentleman?” He pointed at Cab Lacey.

  “I’d be glad to,” Mr. Lacey consented. “That is, if it’s all right with the boys.”

  The boys said nothing at first. They just looked at him. He looked older than either Coach Hutter or Mr. McCray, but something about his eyes looked sharp and intelligent.

  “I think Mr. Lacey will be all right,” volunteered Wally.

  “So do I,” said Sawbones.

  “I like the way he hit the ball down to us,” said third baseman Rocky Newcome. “Real hard, just the way I like ’em.”

  Coach Hutter chuckled. “Fine. Okay, boys, you have your coach. There you are, Cab. Good luck!” He put out his hand, and Cab Lacey shook it.

  The game on Monday was with the Huskies. The Huskies had won their first two games and seemed to be about the strongest team in the league. The Pacers had last raps. Wally had hoped that Mr. Lacey would put him in right field. He had told Mr. Lacey that that was where he liked to play. But Mr. Lacey had him warm up to pitch.